


The Trials and Tribulations of Harry J. Potter

by Slashypotterness



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:14:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slashypotterness/pseuds/Slashypotterness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A darker, more angst ridden re-telling of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. It will eventually be Darrry but will also explore Harry’s relationship with Sirius, his friend and his own inner demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trials and Tribulations of Harry J. Potter

**Author's Note:**

> So I finally found the time to take on a full-length fanfic and I’m actually really excited about it. I’ve always loved Drarry fics set in Hogwarts Era but the Golden Age of these fics seemed to have ended once the last book was released. So late the party, I’m taking my stab at a Howarts Era Draco/Harry fic and I hope there are still enough people out there to enjoy it.  
> Disclaimer: Harry Potter and any recognizable characters are the sole property of JK Rowling, scholastics and Warner Brothers. I claim no right to them nor make any profit off this work.

**Chapter 1**

**The Nightmare**

_“Out of the way Wormtail, let me properly greet our guest,” a hooded man hissed._

_The one known as Wormtail quickly moved out of the other man’s way before the hiss of “Avada Kedavra,” could be heard and jet of green light left the man’s wand._

_The “guest’s” eyes widened for half of a second before the beam hit him square in the chest and he fell down to the ground, dead._

Harry jolted up from his bed as he desperately tried to bring air to his lungs. It was only after getting a good look at his surroundings that he was able to clam down a bit, relieved that whatever he’d seen was nothing but a vivid dream. _Though must dreams don’t leave the dreamer in pain_ , he thought as he brought a shaky hand up to his scar. He couldn’t remember a time his scar hurt that much other than first year when Professor Quirrell was housing Lord Voldemort on his back.

            Harry groaned as he turned on the lamp beside his bed and reached for his glasses. After a few failed attempts, Harry’s thin fingers wrapped around the rim of his spectacles before he clumsily placed them on his face. Still feeling tired and weak, he struggled to pull himself off the flimsy mattress and walk over to the mirror hanging from his dresser. His eyes immediately focused in on his scar. It didn’t look red or swollen, which he supposed was a good sign, though it didn’t explain why his head felt like someone had slapped him with a hot iron.

            _The stupid dream didn’t even make sense_ , thought Harry, as he tried to recall exactly what happened. He knew one of the men had been Wormtail and the other had obviously been Voldemort, but he was sure he’d never seen the man who’d been killed or the person next to Voldemort before. Why would his dreams contain people he didn’t know and why had it shaken him up so much?

He looked over to Hedwig, who was resting peacefully on her perch. Perhaps he should write a letter to Dumbledore. His other alternative would be to owl Hermione but he doubted an answer to his problem would exist in even her impressive library. Who was to say Dumbledore would even have an answer? And if he did, who was to say he would give it to him? While Harry loved and respected the man, he had to admit he had a way of not always telling the truth. Then again, it wasn’t like he had many other options and the worst Dumbledore could say was that he didn’t know. But what should he write?

_Dear Professor Dumbledore sir,_

_Sorry to bother you but I had a bad dream and now my scar hurts._

_Yours Truly,_

_Harry J. Potter_

            Oh yeah, he’d just get on sending that straight away, right after he asked Snape for hair care tips. There was always Ron. While the redhead wouldn’t have an answer, his father might. But of course at the Burrow you can’t ask one person a question without the whole family hearing it. Ron would ask his father, Molly would over hear; become hysterical, probably contact Dumbledore and…no, he didn’t need to owl Ron on this matter either.

            Merlin, he had run out of people. Wait! No, there was still one other person: Sirius Black, his godfather. Sure, he had only met the man two months ago. Yea, he had only spent a few hours with him before he’d had to flee, but he was his godfather and he said he wanted Harry to live with him, that meant something right? Sirius had also written to him every day that summer, just like one of those doting mothers at Hogwarts did for their kids. Surely that would mean he had the right to write him, right? Of course it did, it was stupid to think otherwise. Pushing his doubts to the side, Harry grabbed a piece of parchment and quill from underneath his faulty floorboard.

            _Dear Sirius,_

_Thanks for your last letter. Things at the Dursleys’ are usual, although Dudley’s been a little bit more annoyed due to his so-called diet. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon have been giving me a wide berth, afraid I’ll call on you to turn them into toads or something. I may not have found the need to inform them of your innocence…whoops._

_The only thing wrong, and it’s only slightly wrong, is that my scar was hurting this morning. It usually only happens when Voldemort’s near, but that’s impossible, right? Do you know anything about cursed scars by any chance?_

_Talk to you soon. Say hello to Buckbeak for me._

_~~Yours Truly,~~ _

_~~Sincerely,~~ _

_~~Yours,~~ _

_~~Love,~~ _

_-Harry_

            Harry looked over the letter, once again questioning whether or not he should send it. Despite Sirius saying he wanted to be involved in Harry’s life, he didn’t actually know him. Really he was just his father’s friend and Harry had no idea if he was even anything like his father. What if Sirius got to know him and didn’t like him, then what? Well, he guessed he’d be in the same position he had two months ago. He had gone nearly thirteen years without a father figure, he wouldn’t be any worse off for it.

_Grr, he was over thinking this whole thing!_ It was just a letter and there was no reason not to send it. Besides, if one letter was going to make Sirius give up on him then he didn’t want him in his life anyway, right? _Just stop thinking Harry_ , he yelled to himself as he folded up the parchment and walked it over to Hedwig.

            “Send this to Sirius girl,” he said, handing her the letter.

            Harry gave one more quick glance at his scar before grabbing out some clothing for the day so he could hurry up and go down for breakfast.  

~~*~~

            By the time Harry made it down stairs his uncle and cousin were already seated around the table while his aunt stood at the counter cutting up a piece of grapefruit. Harry bit back a frown when his aunt made her way over to Dudley, placing a small piece of fruit in front of him.

            “There you go Dudley, darling,” she cooed, kissing him on the cheek.

            Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He could only be thankful that his aunt was too engrossed with her son and his uncle was too into his paper to notice, or else he would have found himself without breakfast. Not that a cup of water and half of grapefruit, that was sure to be smaller than Dudley’s, was much of a breakfast anyway.

            “Here,” said Harry’s aunt, throwing down a plate in front of him.  

            “Thank you,” said Harry, trying to sound as sincere as possible.

            Harry started eating the meager ration of food as quickly as he could before Dudley, who was eyeing his grapefruit with piggy eyes, could have a chance to steal it. There would be no way he would finish all his chores that day if he did not have at least some sort of fuel in him.

            The doorbell rang and Harry flinched, ever the easily startled one. Uncle Vernon, with some amusing difficulty, heaved himself out of his chair and headed down the hall, leaving his pig of a son to steal his grapefruit.

            Harry had just finished the rest of his grapefruit when his uncle returned to the kitchen looking absolutely livid.  A feeling of foreboding instantly came over him, knowing that the angry vibes his uncle was giving off could only be meant for one person.

            “You,” He barked at Harry. “Living room. Now.”

            _Oh Merlin, what have I supposedly done this time_ , thought Harry as he got up and followed Uncle Vernon into the next room, flinching when the man slammed the door behind them.

            “So,” Uncle Vernon hissed, getting spittle on Harry’s face.

            “So what?” Harry replied before he could think better of the sassy response.

            “Don’t you take that tone with me, boy!” Uncle Vernon roared, coming dangerously close to Harry.

            “Sorry sir,” Harry quickly said, bowing his head down.

            “So,” his uncle began again. “This just arrived.” Harry looked up in confusion. “A letter,” his uncle continued, “about you. From them.” 

            “About me?” Harry questioned in a small voice. No one he knew used the postman to send letters.

            Uncle Vernon fixed Harry with a glare before he began reading the letter aloud in a gruff annoyed voice:

            Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley,

                        We have never been introduced but I am sure you have heard a great deal from Harry about my son Ron.

                        As Harry might have also mentioned, the final for the Quidditch World Cup happens this Monday night, and my husband has obtained prime seats through his connections at work. It would mean so much to us if Harry could attend, and he could, of course, spend the remaining days of summer with us and we’d safely see him off to school.

                        If Harry could send us your answer through his means that would be best. You see, the Muggle postman has never delivered mail to our house and I don’t know if he would be able to find it.

                        Hoping to see Harry soon.

                        Yours Sincerely,

                        Molly Weasley. 

                        P.S. I do hope we’ve put enough stamps on.

            Uncle Vernon threw the letter down as he finished reading and pulled out another piece of paper.

            “Would you just look at this,” he snarled, motioning to an envelope with far too many stamps on it. 

            “Well I guess she put enough on then,” Harry said, receiving himself a smack upside the head for his efforts.

            “The postman noticed. That’s why he came to the door, thought it was funny he did,” Vernon yelled, reaching out his hand to get another swipe of Harry.

            “I’m sorry,” Harry said, backing away before the man could get another swing in. “Can I…can I go?”

            “And why should I let you go to this….this rubbish?” his uncle asked.

            “Because…” Harry began, the wheels in his head turning. He knew Uncle Vernon would love the chance to get rid of him two weeks early, but at the same time he would hate the chance to do anything that would allow Harry to be happy. “Because Uncle Vernon, if I don’t, and my godfather finds out, he might think I am not having enough fun and come pay a visit. He knows how much I like the sport, you see?”

            That had been the magic word, Uncle Vernon paled and quickly waved his hands around furiously.

            “Well then go! Just go then! I will not have any ruddy murderer in my house!” he yelled nervously. “Go….go contact this Molly lady and tell them to pick you up. I have better things to do than to drive you around.”

            “Yes sir,” Harry said, forcing a smile back as he rushed upstairs to Hedwig. He was going to the Quidditch World Cup, his scar had stopped hurting, and he was getting away from the Dursleys early. Life wasn’t so bad.

           

                      


End file.
